


In the heat of the moment

by SrebrnaFH



Series: Srebrna's Sherlock Oneshots [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Erotic, John appreciation, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Sauna, Sherlock is easily distracted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 21:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20234626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: Sherlock and John go to sauna (for a case).Intense overheating and John's musculature appreciation follows.





	In the heat of the moment

**Author's Note:**

> I've spent 3 weeks in Scandinavia for my summer vacation and one of the campsites we were at had a very nice sauna... so, after three days when we spent every evening warming ourselves in it, I had this idea for a fic... :)

John was hot.

No, back. _It _was hot. Yes. It was hot, ridiculously so, in fact.

Sherlock was in the very worst situation he had found himself in since that time when he had fallen into a duck pond and had to be pulled out by the combined powers of two grown men and a rescue dog (and then had to take his trousers off in public, since a representative of a Decapoda order had attached its crayfish pincers to the delicate skin of his inner thigh).

He was in a sauna.

For a case, naturally.

He had accounted for many aspects of that part of the investigation.

Lack of his mobile phone.

Inability to pursue the culprit effectively in public.

Uncomfortably close companionship of random people.

He hadn’t accounted for them catching the culprit early on, before even entering the hot baths section of the spa and yet John insisting on following up with their planned activity, namely, going to the blasted sauna.

And Sherlock, still on the slight high of having solved the case so effectively, in a rare case of affability, agreed.

And was now suffering for it.

Not because he was overheated. Not only, at least.

He was in a small room filled with strangers, being baked alive and John was…

John was. Right. There.

All golden and gleaming in the dim light offered by the small lamp illuminating the wooden chamber of temperature torture. Covered by a thin sheen of sweat. Slightly, subtly flushed. Relaxed and, judging by his slightly slumped posture, pliant and rested.

Positively edible.

No, wait. Not edible. There had to be some other word. After all, Sherlock knew so many wonderful, descriptive words that he could use to say exactly what he wanted to say.

Scrumptious.

How did his vocabulary, normally so extensive, suddenly get reduced to the narrow category of food-like similes?

Sherlock made an effort. What other word, _not_ related to eating, could he use to describe the very embodiment of luscious, mouth-watering maleness–

He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. Still, even with his brain disconnected from the direct visual stimuli of John luxuriating in the oppressive heat and steam of the hellish invention of the nation of Finland, he couldn’t banish the vision of his best friend, coworker and greatest blogger in the world, stretching in the half-light, as droplets of moisture gathered on the tips of his golden-silver hair – his eyebrows – his eyelashes – his nose and chin – he wished he could follow their trail with his fingers and lips and–

“Sherlock?”

His eyes fluttered open. John stood in front of him, displaying a complete lack of self-consciousness and, also, sudden worry – of the professional variety.

“Sherlock, are you feeling well? You look a bit too flushed – we can leave now, if you wish. I’m all good and warm now, but you,” John reached out and pulled him to his feet, “you look half-cooked. Come on. Time for a nice, cold shower and back home in a cab.”

Cold shower, yes. Cold shower would be good, it would remove a variety of different– well, and– Sherlock’s brain stuttered and his thoughts suddenly stopped, as John pulled him imperiously towards the showers and pressed a button that released a cascade of icy-cold water over their heads. Sherlock managed to stifle an unmanly shriek of surprise that almost tore itself from his throat, but, under the sudden freezing deluge, all he could think of was John’s golden skin, warmed by the steam and coals of the sauna, heated to the exact perfect tone of–

“Sherlock? Sherlock, get out of this water– Seriously, I think you might have fried some of these valuable brain cells in that sauna. No more hot steam for you, mister. It seems to be affecting you way too much. Come on, dry off…”

Fluffy white towel, passed to him by John, wrapped around his shoulders, another pushed into his hand–

“Dry off, you delicate posh boy,” his blogged mumbled. “Or you will catch your death of cold.”

Sherlock slowly, slowly patted himself dry, not allowing his focus to wander away from the subtle play of John’s muscles under the still red-flushed skin.

We wondered what next case could be resolved by catching the culprit in the sauna. It was an experience he was more than willing to revisit.

More than willing.


End file.
